First Night
by Moonlighter
Summary: The first night between Crystal and Pietro after Magneto revealed that he is the biological father of Quicksilver and the Scarlet Witch. Identity crises, self-doubt, and portent follow. Also something of a self-challenge to write nicely of Crystal.


Disclaimer:

_Follows a work of fanfiction intended for entertainment purposes only, the creation and publication of which earns its author no monetary profit. All recognizable characters and referenced canonical events are property of Marvel Comics Incorporated. Or Disney, whatever._

**FIRST NIGHT**

He was hardly going to sleep a wink that night – Crystal fully expected him to toss and turn and keep getting up to go check on Luna and wake in cold sweats and talk foreign languages in his sleep. That's how nighttime went for her husband when he was worked up over something, and she had wholeheartedly resolved to be patient and sweet about it and not complain. But she woke to the howling wind outside, it had to be the middle of the night already, and he did not lie beside her; his side of the bed was cold under covers neatly folded.

Pulling on a robe, she padded down the hall to Luna's nursery. Her baby slept half smiling under tiny blonde curls, a teddybear her father brought home from Switzerland clutched in one little fist. Crystal didn't leave toys in the crib overnight, so Pietro must have given it to her after they put her down. Leaving the door cracked, she went out to the kitchen, the dining room, the sitting room. A half-full bottle of amber liquor was left opened on the serving table – another sat empty beside it. Turning her nose up at the pungent odor, she put the top back on.

Heading back to the bedroom, a tiny glowing light caught her eye through the porch door. She went outside. Pietro sat the wrong direction on a chaise, his back against the wall. In one hand he held a glass of that smelly alcohol, and in the other an even smellier brown cigarette. He stared out into the dark night, nodding toward her general direction.

Patient and sweet, she reminded herself, determined not to make things any worse. "Honey….you know I don't like when you do this."

He took a swallow and a drag, blowing away from her. "Just trying not to wake you. I could not sleep, no sense flopping around in there."

"I meant smoking. Where did you even get it from?"

He eyed the stick between his fingers. "In some coat pocket. I don't remember buying them, must be ancient." He put the thing out, took another swallow, and set the glass aside too. "You should not be breathing that with your allergies."

"Neither should you without any – thank you." She sat down beside him. He seemed instinctively to move away, then corrected himself with the same awkward jerking motion. She snuggled up against his stiff shoulder and he put an arm around her that did not quite mold to her body. He was fully uniformed, covered in dust and a sheen of sweat, hot as a furnace and subtly shaking with leftover adrenaline – she recognized the telltale signs by now, he must have just run himself to the brink of exhaustion and back again.

Crystal had not seen her husband like this often, so distant and disturbed – once over some drama between him and his sister that he wouldn't go into detail about, and again the first time as newlyweds they had been held hostage by an enemy of the Royal Family and used as blackmail against Blackbolt. And now, after Magneto had made an unexpected appearance earlier that very day to reveal his startling discovery: that he was the biological father of the Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver.

Witnessing her husband and sister-in-law react as they did, with such horror and repulsion, she wondered how little she really knew about their time with the Brotherhood, she wondered how little she knew about what kind of 'master' Magneto had been in those days. In hindsight, she felt a fool to have put her daughter into that man's arms, but she didn't know – she still didn't know. How was she supposed to know?

"I hope Wanda and Vision don't leave early, just because of….you know, just because. It's nice having visitors." He made no reply. She tilted her head up, watched his unsteady gaze rise from the cup at his feet to the lunar sky. "What should we do together tomorrow? There's an opera at the theatre. I'm sure your sister would love to see the palace. Oh, we should show Vision that life-size chess sculpture!"

He barely shook his head, as though lacking the strength to shrug or admit he could care no less or that he had no intention of going in public for quite some time.

"Pietro, please…" She flipped over from his side to sit straddling his lap, face to face. He turned his head away. "Why won't you talk to me?"

"Not now, Crystal. It would not help."

"Does that help?" She gestured to the cigarette floating in what remained of his drink. "Does running yourself ragged and sitting alone like this help?" That same numb shake of his head, and nothing else. Cupping his cheek in one hand, she led him into a kiss that began chaste before deepening, to her pleasant surprise. When they parted, he rested his head back as though dizzy, a little breathless too. Crystal liked to think it was from their contact, not the alcohol and tobacco and insomnia and exhaustion.

"I love you, Pietro. Doesn't that help more than anything? I love you." He tasted terrible, but she kissed him again anyway, combing her fingers through his hair – he seemed to shudder, not shake her off. Clutching the fabric of her robe at the knees and pulling upwards, she slinked in closer to his body, settling with his hips fit snug against her inner thighs. They had not made love since Luna was born mere months ago, and not for a while longer before then when Crystal was unwell and uncomfortable. This way would be a little naughty by any standard, outside and all, but she didn't know how else to get through to him, how else to help – she didn't really even understand the problem.

Suddenly he popped his head up and locked eyes with her squarely, searching. She froze – passion had nothing to do with this probing stare. Usually she was not the one on the receiving end of her husband's Serious Look, and now helpless but to notice how hauntingly similar it was to Magneto's own hardened visage, she shrank back feeling oddly unsettled.

"Would you have married me, if you had known what I truly am?" The question fairly stunned her, and she could not immediately answer. "Tell me. Would you have wed the son of Magneto?"

"I...yes, of course! Pietro, he means nothing to me, don't you understand? That isn't my world, it isn't my concern. I don't know him, I don't want to and I'll never have to, we have our own family here…can't we just-"

"What, what exactly – pretend this never happened? No, Crystal. Because like it or not, want it or not, he is your family now too, you married his son and bore his grandchild. We can live in your fairytale castles, hide away in these secret refuges, we can go as far as the blasted moon, but we will never be free of him – not even if he were dead would we be rid of him, I am a _part_ of him, he is in my very blood and in Luna through me, this is our cursed legacy now and it makes me sick, I- it makes me _crazy_."

"Stop – you're hurting me!"

He had grasped her wrists and squeezed as he spoke, surely not even realizing it – he was strong though, in will and body. Strong like his father. He unhanded her at once as though scorched, raking both hands through his hair twice, thrice, before shielding them over his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm tired, Crystal. I'm afraid. I do not know what to do. God help us. I fear the future."

"What? Pietro, you're talking too fast. What?"

"Nothing. I'm just tired, I'm just…please, just-"

He bent forward until she held him, because he would not ask – she folded him into her arms because he did not need to. "This is only the first night, sweetheart, it'll get easier, it has to. The hardest part is over, you'll see. Everything will be fine."

Pietro had fallen asleep as the son of Magneto for the first time.

***fin***


End file.
